


Forty Nine Problems

by Freezey



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freezey/pseuds/Freezey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is unimpressed with one of answers Ryan gives during #asklochte</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Nine Problems

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this during the Super Bowl but only just got the chance to finish it.
> 
> Inspired by [ this tweet](https://twitter.com/ryanlochte/status/296362024684879872), [ this article](http://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/olympics/2013/01/29/michael-phelps-ryan-lochte-reality-show/1876011/), and the caption [on this pic ](http://instagram.com/p/VO4h72r7jH/) (thanks to the wonderful turningterrific for bringing it to my attention)

“IT’S ALL YOUR _FUCKING_ FAULT LOCHTE”

The words are infused with so much spite that for a second Ryan doesn’t even attempt to get up off the ground; he’s completely paralysed by guilt **.**

“I… _What?”_ He manages realising that for once he has genuinely has no idea what it is he’s supposed to have done.

“It’s all your fault” The conviction’s still there but the delivery is less aggressive the second time around and Ryan relaxes enough to sit up and look at his accuser

“Riiiight” He draws the word out slowly “You know, ‘Hi’ also work well as an opener when you haven’t spoken to someone for six months. But whatever, I guess”

Ryan dusts the gravel off his hands as he stands up. The eyes that are watching him narrow.

“Hello Ryan” Michael says sweetly. Ryan bites his lip

“Yeah, Ok.” He pauses “Dude, how long have you been sitting there anyway?”

Ryan tends to function on autopilot before morning practice. He probably could have gotten straight into his car and driven off without even clocking Michael had he not fallen over him quite so spectacularly when he opened the front door.

Michael shrugs “I ripped my shirt on your fence” He says standing up gingerly

Ryan’s not exactly sure how that’s relevant

“I’m…sorry for your loss?” He tries

“Lucky shirt” Michael mutters. “So un fucking fair”

Michael turns his arm over and carefully inspects the damage the fence has inflicted on his purple plaid shirt.  While he’s preoccupied Ryan squints against sunrise and takes a moment to study him more closely. His clothes are crumpled, the rims of his eyes are red and he’s sort of swaying a little as he stands which is concerning to Ryan because Michael isn’t exactly steady on his feet at the best of times and it’s so much worse when-

“Dude…Are you _drunk_?”

Michael tilts his head to the side appearing to consider the question carefully.

“Are you?”

“No Michael” Ryan says with the exaggerated patience usually reserved for explaining the concept of bed time to his nephew “I’m not drunk, because it’s six in the morning”

“Ah” Michael nods thoughtfully apparently finding Ryan’s reasoning deeply profound. He shoves his hands deep inside his pockets and looks momentarily confused before a huge smile spreads across his face. He retracts one of hand from its pocket he holds it out to Ryan

“This is for you” Michael says solemnly “Because you are my friend”

Ryan glances down at the miniature bottle of Old Spice Michael’s placed in his hand. It’s sticky.

“Uh, ok. Thanks?”

“No problem buddy” Michael leans forward and clasps Ryan shoulder sending a shiver down his spine.

“I feel bad bro” Ryan quickly attempts to deflect from his reaction “I didn’t get you anything”

Although in fairness, Michael showing up at his house the Friday before the Super Bowl wasn’t something he’d been planning for. It’s not like he would have been up all night baking had he known, but…still you call first.

“S’alright” Michael shrugs. They lapse into a silence which lasts long enough for Ryan eyes to track the progress of a car from one end of the long street he lives on all the way to other.

“So, um, I have practice” He says tentatively when the car disappears around a corner “But you could-” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and avoids looking at Michael “um…I mean, if you needed to like…”

His heart races and the words that have the potential to put him in a position where he might be vulnerable get stuck in a throat. It’s the same thing that’s happened on every single one of the occasions he’s dialled Michael’s cell only to cancel the call just as its about to connect, or the times when his thumb had hovered over the send option next to the text he’s just written before inevitably findings its way to the exit button.  

“Not that, uh…. I guess you probably have some place you’re supposed to be” He finishes weakly.

“Actually yeah” Michael says sounding like he’s just remembered something “Could I get a ride to Superdome? Gotta go get interviewed”

Ryan blinks

“Mike…You do know you’re not in New Orleans right?”

Ryan doesn’t miss the brief look of surprise that flickers across Michael’s face before he can rearrange his features into a more neutral expression

“Yes” He snaps indignantly “I _was_ in New Orleans, then I flew here after the party last night ‘cause…” Michael turns around slowly searching for inspiration, when he’s gone full circle and is face to face with Ryan again he’s seething “IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT”

“Okay, okay” Ryan hisses gesturing for Michael to keep the noise down. Most of the people living on his street don’t keep swimmers hours. “Okay. Just-” He sighs heavily “-come inside”

He takes hold of Michael’s elbow and gently steers him through the front door in the direction of the kitchen. Michael makes use of the short walk to deliver a mumbled soliloquy which is for the most part incomprehensible, although Ryan does manage to catch something about hurting poor poor Devon’s feelings and the bridges in Baltimore being just as nice to look at. Michael wraps up by addressing him directly

“And the worst thing is you don’t even like football”

“Not that much, no” Ryan hedges carefully opening the cupboard above the sink and attempting to piece together the non sequiturs while he runs Michael a glass of water. Michael flops down dramatically at the kitchen table, only just managing not to fall off the side of the chair. He narrows his eyes at Ryan

“You don’t even like football that much and you definitely don’t love me anymore”

The hand Ryan has on the tap freezes and the water flows over the top of the glass and trickles down his arm

“Mike…”

“You wanna know how I know you don’t love me anymore?”

“Mike, please. You’re really drunk, let’s not…”

“Because you picked the 49ers” Michael leans back in his chair and shakes his head in disbelief “You _know_ you can’t go pulling that kind of shit before a big game Ryan, what the fuck man?”

All air from the breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding leaves Ryan’s chest and he watches his reflection deflating in the kitchen window. He busies himself fiddling with the dishes next to the sink because it gives him something to focus on the half chance slipping through his fingers.

If he’s honest with himself, he suspects that sub-consciously he knew exactly what had brought Michael to Florida right from when he first saw him on the doorstep. It’s not like Ryan hadn’t experienced enough of Michael’s often bizarre pre-game behaviour to know that he’s superstitious as fuck when it comes to his beloved Ravens.

It’s common knowledge amongst those that know him well that Michael, apparently not content with impact his swimming has on American sport, harbours a genuine belief that he had the ability to influence the outcome of football games.  This belief manifests itself in a set of highly complex rules which govern the behaviour of Michael and anyone close to him in the run up to a game. Clothing gets scrutinised, foods with potential geographical ties to other NFL teams are frowned upon, and positive affirmation of the opposition is strictly forbidden.

Ryan had developed something of a habit of breaking almost every rule before virtually every game, pleading ignorance or confusion when Michael turned on him. The truth was he actually had a pretty decent grasp on the rules, but watching Michael freak out about that shit was priceless. For the big games though Ryan always towed the line, it was more than life was worth not to.

“Yeah, my bad” Ryan’s says flatly

Whilst the accusations Michael had been throwing around earlier had remained non-specific, Ryan couldn’t help but cling to the hope that this could be the way in his cancelled calls and unsent texts hadn’t provided him. Not that Michael blaming him for everything that had gone wrong between them sat comfortably with Ryan, or that he had any desire to revisit what happened after the Olympics and then there was fucking _France_ still to deal with _._

But anyway, as it turns out they’re not talking about any of that stuff. They’re talking about 49ers. Fine.

“We had such a good shot” Michael laments “And now it’s gone. Because of you”

“Ok, dude, I’m sorry. You're right, it’s all my fault” Ryan acquiesces because it’s the fastest way of extracting himself from a conversation he couldn’t have now even if he wanted to “Listen, I’m already super late for practice, so….” He briefly pictures himself putting Michael in a cab and sending him to the airport “so, why don’t you go lie down upstairs and maybe sleep it off a little and we can talk about it some more when I get back. If you still want”

“Fine. Go. Practice” Michael dismisses him with a wave of his hand. He stands up and immediately trips over something entirely non-existent, Ryan sighs. He’s not convinced Michael’s capable of navigating the stairs alone, and apart from anything else wilful neglect of a drunken national treasure is probably might be something he’ll wind up in trouble for so he crosses the kitchen and slings one of Michael’s arms across his shoulders and holds it in place while wrapping his free arm around Michael’s waist.

“I don’t need your help” Michael says, gripping Ryan’s arm tightly “I hate you”

“I know” Ryan says as they stagger up the stairs together

“Because of you the Ravens are gonna the Super Bowl”

“I know”

“I want my Old Spice back”

“Gladly”

“Because this is all your fault”

“Again, very sorry”

“It’s not fair”

“I know”

“You know why it’s not fair?”

“Because the Ravens are gonna lose the Super Bowl?” Ryan guesses as he drops Michael down onto the bed in the guest room.

“No” Michael’s says in the most coherent voice he’s managed all morning “It’s not fair because I have no idea what I did that’s so bad it cost me by best friend”

Ryan pauses by the door and looks back over his shoulder

“Mike…”

“And because the fucking Ravens are gonna lose the fucking Super Bowl”. Michael says turning his back on Ryan and pulling a pillow over his head.

+

When practice is over Ryan pulls his phone out of his locker and finds a text phone and finds a text from Michael:

**‘Embarrassing :s Srry Ry. Buy u lunch?’**

It sits immediately below the last text he received from Michael - another apology - sent almost five months earlier.

**‘Can’t do this 4eva. Srry Ry. I’m done’**

Ryan stares at the message until the screen fades to black. He has to shake himself before he can reply to Michael, asking him to order Pizza but to hold off for a while because Ryan has a meeting with his agent he has to go to first. It ends up being a fairly lengthy reply and when he hits send Ryan takes some satisfaction from watching it bump the text from September off the top of the display.

The meeting with his agent last for a lot longer than it should, primarily because Ryan’s so distracted trying to figure out why Michael hasn’t left yet they have to keep going over the same stuff twice. Ryan had been 95% certain Michael would wake up and sneak out before he got from practice, but instead he’s still in Florida and he’s sober. The combination unnerves Ryan.

It ends up being close to 2pm by the time he gets home so he feels it’s perfectly legitimate to put the churning in his stomach down to hunger rather than nerves. Of course, he’d already be eating by now if he hadn’t driven passed his house twice before convincing himself to pull into the drive.

When Ryan steps inside the house Michael looks up from his spot on the couch and greets him with a sheepish smile. A strong breeze catches the front and blows it shut with a bang making Michael wince

“Dude please, you really want to just…try and make as little noise as possible just now”

“Headache by any chance MP?” Ryan tries not to sound too smug.

“The fucking worst” Michael mutters not quite meeting Ryan’s eye. Ryan gives him a quick once over, despite the lingering hangover he looks a damn site better than he did before Ryan left. He’s showered for one thing and changed his clothes which confuses Ryan because the shirt defiantly isn’t from his closet (he doesn’t share Michael’s love of fluorescent colors) and as far as he can recall Michael hadn’t been carrying anything other than the bottle of Old Spice when he showed up.

Michael sees Ryan looking at his clothes and realises why he’s confused.

“I uh, I hope you don’t mind. I checked and these were still in the drawer so…”

Ryan blinks. He’d totally forgotten about that drawer.

For a number of reasons Michael was generally not most people’s first choice of roommate at a meet, one of them being his legendary ability to spread his shit liberally throughout whatever space he happened to be occupying. A few months after Athens Michael visited Florida and Ryan discovered it was a policy that did not restrict itself to dorm rooms, he had still been finding random items of Michael’s in obscure places days after he’d gone back to Baltimore. Eventually, he’d gathered everything together and shoved it in the drawer in the guest room for convince more than anything, at least it would all be in one place for Michael to take home with him at the end of next visit.

But visits came and went and somehow Michael always managed to leave with less stuff than he came with.  Then at some point, the contents of the drawer got less random as Michael had started adding things to it deliberately, until eventually all he brought with him when he visited was his phone and his wallet.

Devon never passed up an opportunity to rip the shit out of Ryan whenever he returned something of Michael’s to the drawer, pointedly reminding him that not one girl had ever managed to leave so much as a toothbrush in the bathroom but Michael had his very own drawer.

“Of course I don’t mind. It’s your stuff bro” 

“Yeah. I’ll take it with me when I leave” Michael nods towards an overstuffed bag sitting next to the front door  “get it out of your way”

“You…Um, ok, Thanks” Ryan tries very hard not to dwell on the implications of that bag leaving his house.

Michael pushes a pizza box across the coffee table toward Ryan.

 “This apology is brought to you by Dominos”

“Yeah? What are you apologising for?”

“Uh…before” Michael waves a hand vaguely towards the front door and blushes

“Ah Yes” Ryan nods sagely “That’s why I was late by the way. I’ve been working up a plan to escape from the wrath of thousands of scorned Ravens fans that will surely rain down upon when their warriors are defeated in battle”

“Okay, first of all, this is Gainesville dude, not middle earth. Second of all, don’t insult me, there are like…millions of my people”

“Your people?”

“Don’t insult me” Michael reminds him

“Sorry”

“And thirdly” Michael pauses “It’s possible Sunday’s result won’t be entirely down to you”. He says the last part very quickly

“Really? You think like the players and the coaches and stuff might have had a hand in it too?”

“Not fucking likely” Michael runs a hand through his hair “I shaved” he’s says with a demeanour which bears a close resemblance to someone who’s just confessed to running over their own Mother.

“Shit man. Like, I don’t even know what to say. That’s fucking bad”

“I know” Michael agrees morosely oblivious to Ryan’s sarcasm. “I didn’t want to but I had a thing in Switzerland last week and Peter said it I didn’t take care of it myself he would shave my face while I slept, so I caved and now I’ve ripped my lucky shirt, and… basically I just fucking hate myself. And Switzerland”

Ryan has to sit on his hands in order to suppress his urge to hug Michael.

“Aw, come on Mike, don’t blame the Swiss, you can’t blame the for…” Ryan’s face creases “…doing whatever the fuck people for Switzerland do”

“Ruin dreams” Michael supplies

Ryan passes Michael one of the beers that sits next to the pizza box

“Drink. Eat. Pizza heals all wounds”

“Time”

“What?”

“Time heals all wounds”

“Really? Pizza makes more sense”

Michael opens the box

“We should probably test your theory. You know, in the interests of science”

They settle down to eat and Ryan begins to wonder if all his cancelled calls and unsent texts amount to little more than time and energy wasted fretting over nothing, because the scene at two slices in could be a snapshot taken at any point in there eight year’s of friendship. There’s no inane small talk, no uncomfortable silences to fill, no overly polite enquires about families or career activities. Instead Ryan cuts straight to the important issues and asks Michael if he’s participating in some kind of witness protection programme, because nothing else explains Michael’s need to constantly disguise himself as either a statistics professor or a porn star. Michael in turn responds with some choice remarks regarding Ryan’s disappointing footwear choices.

By the fourth slices though, Ryan find himself having to work a bit harder to keep the conversation flowing. Michael’s responses start getting shorter and the questions he asks of Ryan get less frequent, but Ryan doesn’t get too concerned until Michael stops inhaling his food and starts picks unenthusiastically at what’s left on his plate. Michael is _always_ hungry and a decrease in his appetite is generally indicates a far more serious underlying condition. By the time Ryan goes for a fifth slice Michael’s given up on his food altogether and is sitting right on the edge of the sofa, fidgeting with his hands and generally looking pensive.

“You ok man?” Ryan ventures

“Why?”

Ryan mentally scrolls through a few options from the pool of questions Michael could be drawing from. _Why are you asking? Why aren’t we ok? Why haven’t we talked about France? Why haven’t we talked at all?_ Ryan’s not sure he’ll be able to answer any of them

 “Why What?” He asks cautiously

“Why’d you pick the 49ers?”

A jolt of irritation surges through Ryan. Of course.

“That’s not gonna go away anytime soon huh?”

“I just…I need to know”

Ryan doesn’t answer. Instead he focuses his attention and clearing the table, making enough noise as he snatches at the plates for to disturb Carter’s nap and earn himself an unimpressed glare.

“Well?” Michael says expectantly when Ryan returns from the kitchen. Ryan looks at him blankly and shrugs

“You were about to tell be why you picked the 49ners?” Michael reminds in a patronising voice.

“Does it really matter?”

“It matters to me”

“Well it shouldn’t” Ryan snaps thinking of all the things Michael could choose to care about instead. Michael has a number of valid reasons to be upset, but as far as Ryan’s concerned this isn’t one of them. “Look. It was just something I said, okay? And like I know you think it’s gonna cost your guys the game, but Mike, that’s fucking stupid. It’s not my fault your so superstitious-“

“That’s not. I already told you, I shaved. It’s on me.”

“So why the hell do you keep asking?” Ryan’s voice rises. Michael matches it

“Because, that’s not. You just-” He stops and takes a couple of breaths “Please Ryan, give me an answer, a _real_ one, and then I’ll leave if you want me to. Why did you pick 49ers?”

At about this time on a normal day Ryan would be preparing to take a nap by flicking on a movie he’d seen a dozen or so times before, one so familiar with he knows what the characters are going to say before they even open they mouths.  It occurs to him fleetingly that listening to Michael repeating the same damn question over and over again isn’t all that dissimilar and perhaps that’s why it finally clicks. He’s used to knowing the lines well enough to stop listening to the words all together; he’s well practiced at freeing his mind to pick on other subtler things, the subtext.

Once he sees it he kicks himself for not figuring it out sooner, the irony being that Michael’s trip to Florida has as little to do with football as Ryan’s pick for the Super Bowl.

“It hurt Ryan” Michael says quietly “And like I think you know….I don’t think it something you just said”

It wasn’t. It had in fact been one of those rare occasion where the largely inactive filter between Ryan’s mouth and his brain had kicked in to prevent him saying the first thing that came into his head.

His gut said Baltimore, his heart said Baltimore, fuck, Devon, who’d been sitting across from him at the time had been _screaming_ Baltimore. But neither his brother nor his internal organs factored much in a decision making process which was dominated by the article he’d read on the USA today website that morning, and it wasn’t about the respective merits of each team.  So he said San Francisco. It was petty, and maybe just a little bit spiteful, but-

“At least it got your attention”

“My attention?” Michael repeats

“Yeah” Ryan says defensively standing up and moving over to the other side of the room “Cause, nothing else I’ve said or done in the last six months seems to have made it onto your radar”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I read the article”

Michael stares at Ryan in bewilderment for several seconds before his feature soften in recognition

“The one where they asked me about your show”

“The show that you’ve never even heard of” Ryan replies hotly folding his arms across his chest

“I didn’t say that”

“I read the article, bro”

“Then you didn’t read it very carefully” Michael says with an edge to his voice “because I said I didn’t know anything about it”

“That’s what I just-”

 “No, it fucking isn’t. Just Listen” Michael waits until he has Ryan’s attention before continuing in a measured tone “I know that there’s a show. I know that it’s called ‘What Would Ryan Lochte Do?’-”

“Then why did you-”

“BECAUSE RYAN” Michael snaps “The reporter asked me how the filming for your show was going. I guess he thought that was something I might be in the loop on, seeing as how he knows we’re such good friends and all”

Ryan can feel heat starting to spread up his neck as he realises where Michael’s going with this

 “But the thing is I _don’t_ know how you’re getting on with your show, because you haven’t spoken to me about it, or fucking anything, for months. So I said  ‘I. Don’t. Know. Anything. About. _It._ ’” Michael enunciates each word carefully emphasising the last one.

They hold each other’s gaze for a few tense seconds. Ryan looks away first

“Yeah, ok” He concedes.

The prolonged silence that follows leaves Ryan feeling exposed, Michael’s words sit heavily in the air and whilst the demand for a counter explanation goes unspoken it’s definitely implied.

“I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t trying to get at you” Michael’s voice is unexpectedly soft and Ryan senses an opportunity to back his way out of the corner it feels as though Michael’s has him trapped in.

“Look, we’re both super busy” Ryan says magnanimously “It’s totally understandable that we lost touch or whatever. But-” He holds up his hands “-I will admit revenge picking the 49ers was a dick move” He crosses the room and bumps Michael’s with his own as he sits back down on the couch “I’m sorry dude, please pass on my apologies to the city of Baltimore”

The excessively jovial demeanour Ryan had adopted disappears with one sideways glance across the sofa which lets him know Michael is not in the mood for accepting olive branches.

“Rigggght” Michael says slowly, frowning “Except that we didn’t _‘lose touch’_ did we Ryan?’”

“Well….we did”  The heat that was in Ryan’s neck  spreads to his face.  He starts to babble to but buy himself some time “I don’t know about you but if-“

“I called you every fucking day, Ryan. Every day for like…a month. You never called me back once”

“I…I was going to.” Ryan stutters with his eyes fixed on the floor. “There was a lot going on” He flinches at the sound of Michaels fist connecting with the arm of the couch

“That’s not…Look if you weren’t. Because of France.  If you didn’t.” Michael gives up on all his uncompleted sentences and tries again a little more gently “I would of understood okay? We still could have…But you just gave up”

The surge of adrenalin that shoots through Ryan clears his mind completely and for split second he feels eerily calm. And then he sees red.

“Okay. Let’s just see if there’s any possible reason why I might not have been able to sit beside my phone all day and wait for you to call. I’m sure there was something…oh that’s right. We’d just finished competing in the _Olympics_ Michael” Ryan pushes himself up from the couch with enough force to knock it backwards “And not everyone got to jump on the first flight to the Maldives either. I worked my ass off after the games. It was non fucking stop”

“Really? Wow. I wonder what that must be like” Michael deadpans

“ _Exactly._ Like, why the fuck am I having to explain this you. You been there, you know you’re lucky if you get enough time to take to piss, forget making a phone call”

Being reminded of the contrast of the contrast in their post-Olympic experiences does little to help Ryan control his anger. In Beijing Michael pulled off something unbelievable, something that is unlikely to be surpassed in the lifetime of anyone who witnessed it. London was supposed to be Ryan’s time and he ended up having had what he described as an ‘average meet’.  He hadn’t worked his ass off for three years to be average.

 “It was just…” Ryan closes his eyes “it was too much” He inwardly shudders at the memory of how disconnected he’d felt after the games from everyone not just from Michael. The monopoly his management company, led by his agent Erika, had on his time meant that Ryan had been taken away from a lot of things that mattered more to him than executing a publicity strategy which seemed to revolve entirely around him taking his shirt off.

“Dude, I don’t think I’m like being a dick here. I understand that you were busy, but it’s not like I was asking you too… not one fucking text”

“Fine. You have every right to be pissed off with me. Congratulations MP, there’s a pretty fucking big club you can join”

There had been _a lot_ of plates to keep spinning after the games and Ryan who couldn’t stand disappointing anybody endlessly ran around after all of them. As someone who was predisposed to being generous with his time and energy it he found it hard to say no, something that Erika had played on it until inevitably plates started smashing.

“I couldn’t keep up. I’m not exactly proud of….I know I let a lot of people down” Ryan’s voice is laced with regret.

A harsh reality check and a change of a management company later Ryan doesn’t give a fuck what Erika thinks anymore, but the guilt he carries around from not being with his family when the media shit storm had kicked off around them isn’t going anywhere soon.

Still, Ryan isn’t comfortable with the weakness he can hear creeping into his voice and he quickly changes track “Anyway I don’t remember giving you all this shit after Beijing” he says somewhat petulantly.

Michael immediately opens his mouth but shuts it again without saying anything.

“You should have just told me your phone got stolen” He finally says with a slight smile.

“Sorry?”

“That’s what I did after Beijing. Fucking everyone got pissed with me for never returning their calls.  Even _mom_ was given me a hard time, she kept leaving these voicemails that were just Herman barking. So I started telling everyone my phone got stolen, like you can’t get mad at someone for that, except…yeah, after a while there might be some suggestion that if you’re sponsored by a phone company you probably could have got that shit sorted out already”

A half smile flickers across Ryan’s face

“I don’t remember you doing that”

“You wouldn’t. I never said it to you. You were like the only one that wasn’t pissed at me”

“Right. So…” Ryan falters.  On paper, it sounds like Michael’s agreeing with him, or maybe complimenting him, possibly both. But the sentiment doesn’t match the resigned tone in his voice and the sort of distant look in his eyes.

“I don’t…” Ryan shakes his head and looks at Michael imploringly whilst doing his best to cast his mind back four years. In all honesty he really can’t remember cutting Michael any extra slack post-Beijing, although to be fair Ryan had something of a reputation for _always_ going easy of Michael which definitely predated 2008.                     

His USA team-mates had been giving him stick for it since as long ago as Athens. It wasn’t that the other guys didn’t like Michael per say, it was more that they struggled to accept him as a part of the group. Michael didn’t always help himself, he’s a tough guy to get know and sometimes he’d make it all too easy for his team-mates to dismiss him as a bit too quiet, too intense, too self-absorbed, too distant.

Initially Ryan had made an effort to be nice to Michael because he felt sorry for him. Ryan didn’t have much experience of being on the outside of a group, Ryan rarely needed more than three minutes of anyone’s time to make a new friend for life, but Michael…wasn’t quite so straightforward, he was someone you really had to get.

Ryan got him. He understood the fundamental differences between who Michael was and how Michael behaved. He could see that some of the more stupid things Michael did – the way he chose to cope with pressure he was under or how sometimes reacted to the scrutiny his life was subjected to on a daily basis – were the result of the complicated context he came with. Ryan was by no means trying for Michael being perfect, he’d be the first to testify to Michael’s willingness to embrace his inner brat all too eagerly, but the truth was even when he was at his brattiest Ryan would still have rather hung out with Michael than 95% of the other guys on the teams. So yeah, he made allowances.

He just for the life of him can’t remember making any extra allowances after Beijing. Which is _weird_ because God knows, the pressure and the scrutiny had never been more intense than in those first few weeks after the 08 games.  And Ryan _knew_ it had effected Michael badly, he’d heard every day in his voice when he…when he… _fuck._

“You always called me back” He says quietly, only now appreciating how much effort Michael must have put into making those calls happen.

Michael smiles at him sadly.

“I do get it Ry. I’m not trying to guilt you.”

“It kind of seems like you are though”

“I’m not. I just…I keep thinking over it. Did I…do something or-”

“No” Ryan interjects immediately feeling like shit at the thought of Michael tormenting himself analysing the things he had and hadn’t said “I mean, uh, not exactly”

“Okay, so I don’t. Like, help me understand dude”

Ryan’s once again shifting uncomfortably this time because he’s feeling conflicted. More than anything else he wants to fix things with Michael, it’s just that he’s really not sure he’s capable of rehashing everything that happened. Even after six months it’s still too raw.

 _What happened_ started immediately after his last swim. As he hauled his body out of the pool the water slid off his skin and took the last of his adrenalin with it and suddenly there was nothing left to hold back the tidal wave of disappointment that had been gradually building inside him since the 4x100 free. It had hit him so hard he’d felt it physically. He can still remember coming complete stop on the deck bending almost double with his hands on his knees before forcing himself forward to the desk in the corner to pick up his credentials. 

No-one batted an eyelid, to all intents and purposes it looked like he was catching his breath after a though race and so Ryan had shrugged it off, the drug test for once a welcome distraction as it kept him from having to analyse what happened further. The drug test was followed by a constant stream of hands to shake, questions to answer and photos to pose for which would have kept his mind occupied for the entire night had it not been for one very short break. One minute and eight seconds where he stood stock still, grill in mouth, hand over heart, while the sound of the London Philharmonic Orchestra failed to drown out the voice in his head telling him he was a fraud.

As the anthem drew to a close he glanced left across the few feet that divided first and second, success and failure. The last thing his mind registered before his attention was recaptured by camera flashes and the people yelling his name was Michael.

After that the distractions just kept coming. The schedule his agent had set up for him when he got back to the States was _brutal_ but he’d been relieved to be busy, being busy meant he didn’t have time to think. The disappointment never went it away, it stayed lurking just below the surface of his consciousness occasionally catching him off guard and breaking through. Sometimes it hit him at random moments but sometimes it was a little more predictable, say… every time he thought of Michael.

It became increasingly difficult not to think about Michael because yet again Michael seemed to be fucking _everywhere_. Every news segment, every billboard, every gossip column, every cereal box, every instagram photo

Every time he checked his missed calls.

It took a while for the post-Olympic hysteria to finally reach its peak and begin a gradual decline that meant for gaps started to emerge in Ryan’s schedule.  He put it off  
for as long as possible, but when the spaces got bigger and more frequent he booked a flight back to Gainesville. He was reluctant to be around his family again, having convinced himself he’d let them down with his disappointing performance in London and the stuff in the press that followed.

He went straight from the plane to a (surprise) family dinner that had been arranged in his honour, and within half an hour he was wishing he’d come home much sooner. He’d spent so much time promoting himself he’d forgotten what it was like to be treated like a person instead of managed as a product. Sitting at his mom’s kitchen’s table he began to realise that how his management team had exploited his desire to please to the extent that he forgotten what it meant to be loved unconditionally. That day had been the turning point and as his sense of perspective slowly returned he finally felt equipped to deal with the mess in his head.

He started by re-evaluating his assessment of London. With the help of his coach and his family he accepted that just maybe his definition of ‘average’ was a little skewed. He’d destroyed a field of the toughest all round swimmers in the 400IM, made it onto the podium twice in one night after swimming a double no-one else would have looked twice at and the five medals he brought home put him among the most successful Olympians of all time. The only person calling Ryan average was Ryan.

Then, and annoyingly just when he started to feel good about London, he realised he didn’t care about it _that_ much anyway. He wasn’t being flippant, of course swimming was important to him, but it wasn’t _everything_.  He’d lost sight of that for a while, he let swimming get too big and it had messed up his balance, it pushed out other thing that mattered to Ryan, things that made him who he was.  He allowed his focus to shift back to the parts of his life that been overshadowed for too long, and that’s when he realised-

Michael wasn’t anywhere.

“I fucked up”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Ryan at surprise

“I know you want…more than that, but it isn’t… I’m mean like I’m not sure how to. I wasn’t in a good place after the games. There was a lot that didn’t…go the way I wanted it to, I guess.”

Michael looks like he’s about to interject, but Ryan holds a hand to silence him.

“-And I kind of resented you because of it. I know, it totally isn’t fair, but it’s how I felt and I just couldn’t…deal”

Ryan busies himself with picking imaginary pieces of lint from his jeans so that he doesn’t have to look at Michael

“I figured it out eventually you know? I realised that I…that things weren’t right. But by then…”

Ryan didn’t make it home properly until October, it took him three months to realise he’d fucked up with Michael. It was the longest they’d ever gone without speaking to each other, but it shouldn’t have mattered, this time a year ago it wouldn’t have mattered. But this time a year ago France hadn’t happened. Ryan knew you only get a certain window with that kind of thing and by October he felt pretty sure it had closed.

“It was like….like we’d stalled or something. And I’m shit with cars so like, I couldn’t work out what to do to get it us going again” He pauses and then adds helpfully “The car is our relationship”. He feels the need  
to point this out to Michael, partly to make sure he’s understood and partly because he’s quite proud of his analogy.

Michael rolls his eyes

“Thank-you Ryan, I understood the metaphor”

“Uh…like, I’m not sure what else to say” He confesses

“No it’s not…” Michael frowns “I don’t want to make you talk about what happened after the games if it makes you uncomfortable” Michael reaches across the top of sofa and Ryan bows his head instinctively because Michael always used to rub the back of his neck whenever he was stressing out. But Michael’s hand never reaches his neck, instead he turns the movement into a sort of awkward looking stretch pushing the hair off his face as he bring his arm back down for good measure. 

“If there’s something you want to ask me I’ll try and like…Unless it’s about the 49ers and I have to punch you in face”

Michael laughs and Ryan’s heart beats a little bit faster.

“Um. I guess I’m just wondering why you didn’t get back in touch when you figured it out” He glances at Ryan a hint of a smile still on his face “It’s not like we haven’t stalled before”

It’s true. Ryan was closer to Michael anyone but like all friends they sometimes pissed each other off, on occasion they really hurt each other and they’d need to take a bit of a break to cool. And then they had the added complication of the occasions where one of them lost a head to head in the pool (usually Ryan) or on the X-box _(always_ Michael) and a mandatory period of sulking had to be observed before they could talk to each other again. But when they ‘d did start talking they’d always pick up right where they left off before the cause of the friction had taken place, kind of the way they had earlier over pizza. They found it ridiculously easy to forgive each other; it was one of _those_ friendships.

“I wanted to” Ryan fixes his eyes on Michael’s hoping he’ll be able to see that he means it “And like, I tried to you speak to you at the Golden Goggles, but um…”

“I was being kind of a dick that night” Michael finishes for him blushing a little. Ryan smiles

“Yeah it did kind of feel like you hid the keys that nigh bro” He looks away from Michael again returning to the task of imaginary lint inspection. “ I guess I could have tried harder, but I wasn’t sure…It felt different to the other times…like we couldn’t just go back to how we were before”

“How far back did you want to go? Like before the Golden Goggles, before London…” Michael clears his throat “Before France?”

Before Ryan has a chance to say anything Michael’s start speaking again. He talks so fast he keeps tripping over his words.

“I can’t stop wondering. I thought maybe it was the whole reason for. I mean…was it not something you wanted to….happen? ‘Cause like, it seemed like we were both pretty into it while it was… happening, but then I figured that’s why you’ve been avoiding me. You know, to make sure that it didn’t, uh, happen again”

Ryan stares at Michael

“Dude, my dick has been in your mouth.  Saying you’ve had my dick in your mouth is should not be weirder for you than the part where my dick was actually in your mouth”

“Yeah but it is though”

“Well ok. I mean if you’re more comfortable doing it than talking about it then totally as a favour to you I don’t mind if you wanna like-”

“Dude”

“Sorry”

Michael draws a breath, he wrings his hands together then opens his mouth and shuts it again immediately. He repeats the entire process a twice more before he managing to get any words out:

“So like you were ok with-” Michael screws his eyes shut “-my dick being in your mouth, it uh… didn’t make things weird for you?”

“Fuck, no.” Ryan lets out a breath “ _No_ ” He repeats emphatically, feeling that it’s important that he’s clear with Michael about this.  He thinks for a second “It’s like in France, it was like we upgraded our car and-“

“Ryan if you say anything about lubricating engines you’ll be the one that gets punched in the face. Final warning”

“Gotycha. Like….it was a good upgrade though”

“Yeah. I thought so too”

“Decent ride”

Michael flings an arm out sideways and smacks Ryan across the stomach.

“Until the engine cut out anyways”

Michael tips his head back against the sofa closes his eyes.

“We are really fucking bad with cars”

“Really bad.” Ryan agrees. He takes a deep breath “I think…I think we can get better. Like, I don’t know about you, but I want to get better. I want to fix us.”

Michael turns his head to look at Ryan

“I don’t think we’re broken Ry. We just-“

“Stalled?” Ryan offers, because he just can’t help himself.

“Okay, so we’re not good at cars” Michael summarises “But that’s okay ‘cause no-one’s good at everything and we did do some other stuff last summer we were pretty good at”

“You mean like swimming?”

Michael rolls his eyes “No Ryan. Not swimming” He says slowly, pointedly.

Ryan was fairly confident he knew what Michael meant the first time, but too many of the assumptions he’s made today have turned out to be wrong so he wants to be sure. He wants Michael to say it.

“So…you mean…we’re talking about…” He prompts hoping Michael will take the initiative and complete one of the sentences.

Instead Michael pulls Ryan towards him, one hand around at his waist and the other behind his neck, and Ryan decides it’s totally fine if Michael never saying anything else again.

Ryan does a 180 turn landing on the other side of the sofa with one knee planted on either side of Michael’s lap. Of the two of them, he’s got the faster reaction time and so while Michael’s hands are still reaching for his face Ryan is already pressing their lips together, his tongue immediately opening Michael’s mouth. Michael kisses back hard, his hips lifting off the couch as little as he tangles both his hands into Ryan’s hair. Ryan’s the first to break the kiss, because what Michael lacks in reaction time he more than makes up for in lung capacity. Ryan wraps his arms around Michael’s back and squeezes tightly resting his lips against Michael’s ear.

“I’m so fucking glad the Ravens are gonna lose on Sunday” He whispers

Michael pulls Ryan back and holds him at arm’s length

“Well excuse the fuck right out of you”

Ryan leans forward to kiss Michael again, but Michael’s arms stayed braced holding Ryan back

“That mouth isn’t getting anywhere near me Lochte”

Ryan sits back down on bent knees. He takes hold of Michael’s hands and explains

“Let’s face it MP, if I hadn’t picked the 49ers you would never of hauled you’re drunken superstitious ass down here, and then there wouldn’t have been any kissing, and that-” Ryan concludes with a smirk “-would be a big fucking shame”

Michael’s face falls. He looks like he’s in pain.

“I can’t….that’s not even….the universe is totally fucking with me” Michael leans forward dropping his head against Ryan who does his best not to laugh, but Michael feels his shoulders shaking.

“Could you please not laugh I’m having an identity crisis here”

“The gay thing?”

“No dick. The whole Ravens losing because of you and me maybe being fine with that thing. Fuck, I don’t even know who I am anymore, like, how am I supposed to tell my mom?”

Ryan decides Michael is already suffering enough and he won’t remind him that he’d practically resolved Ryan of all blame earlier because of the shaving thing, or the shirt ripping thing, Ryan forgets the specifics.

“Well…Why don’t you start by admitting to me that you want me more than you want Ravens to win the Super Bowl” He says into Michael’s hair.

Michael pulls his head up from Ryan chest, his face is more relaxed and open that Ryan thinks he’s ever seen it before.

“Dude, I think I want you more than I ever wanted anything”

Something floods through Ryan’s chest and it makes him feel warm all over. He smiles and runs his thumb across Michael’s bottom lip before kissing him again.

“He shoots and he scores. Reezy one Ravens Zero”

“You’re mixing sports metaphors” Michael complains, because he’s Michael.

“Whatever bro” Ryan studies face Michael seriously “Do you still have Ray Lewis’ phone number? ‘Cause you should probably let him know he’s gonna get his ass kicked on Sunday and you’re like fully on board with it”

“Fuck You Ryan”

“Or if you prefer you can do that instead”

Michael looks at Ryan with wide eyes which are almost entirely black

“Really?” Michael’s swallows “We’ve not like…done that before”

“I know but-” Ryan kisses Michael’s neck “-you’re retired right? This part of your life is all about trying new things” He pauses and smiles against Michael’s skin “And you know, hopefully you’ll turn out to be better at this than you are at golf”

“Fuck you Ryan”

“Dude, you keep saying that, but like I don’t see you-”

Michael thrusts his hips forward dumping Ryan off his lap and onto the floor. Before he has a chance to complain Michael’s pulls him up, circles his arms around Ryan’s waist and slips his hands inside the back of his shorts all in one surprising fluid movement.  Michael walks them towards the stairs covering Ryan’s lips, neck and jaw in a series of feather light kisses.  Ryan inches backwards until he’s standing on the bottom step. He uses the height advantage it gives him to take control and deepen their kiss, but pulls away suddenly when he catches something out of the corner of his eye.

“Wait”

“ _Really?_?” Michael’s eyes are dark, his hair is messed up, his lips are swollen and his expression is pure frustration

Ryan ignores him and goes to pick up the bag that sits by the front door.

“This stays here ok?” Ryan aims for a mock firm tone but his voice ends up wobbling slightly and he looks away embarrassed. Michael’s face softens, he steps over to Ryan and cups his jaw.

“Yes. I’ll even unpack it myself. But…After.” Michael slips his finger through Ryan belt loops tugging him close again. The bag falls back on the floor with a thud.

They shed clothes, touch and kiss clumsily as they makes their way to the bedroom, that is until Ryan finds himself making a grab for Michael that’s prompted more by health and safety concerns than lust when Michael trips over the shorts pooled at his ankles and very nearly falls down the stairs.

“How is it even possible for the greatest Olympian of all time is this fucking uncoordinated” Ryan says exasperated. He deliberately takes a step away from Michael “No more touching for you until you get to the top of the stairs”

Undeterred, Michael reaches out for Ryan again but gets his arm pushed away

“Just cool it for two seconds ok slut? ‘Cause you know have no idea how much shit I will give you if we end up in the emergency room instead of my bed”

They manage to make it to Ryan’s room without further incident and Ryan rewards Michael for the accomplishment by slipping his hand under the waist band of Michael’s underwear and stroking his now very hard dick.

“Jesus” Michael groans burying his face in Ryan’s neck.

Ryan manoeuvres Michael (carefully) towards the bed, laughing when Michael throws himself backwards onto the mattress with great enthusiasm grinning up at Ryan expectantly. Ryan lowers himself over Michael taking great care not to touch any part of him. Bracing his weight on straight arms he hovers above Michael and very slowly runs his eyes up and down his body. Michael’s shiver of anticipation bypasses Ryan’s eyes altogether and shoot straight to his dick.

Michael grins up at Ryan again then tugs on his wrists causing Ryan to lose his balance and collapse on top of Michael.

“Motherfu-”

Michael swallows Ryan’s protest, wrapping his legs around Ryan and kissing him deeply, hard but unhurried. Ryan stokes his fingers down Michael’s neck as he kisses back and he’s struck by how different this is to what they were doing in France where this part had invariably been a frenzied blur of activity where the objective had been to get to the main event as quickly as possible before either one of the had the chance to back out.

For once it’s Michael that pulls away first, whispering breathlessly

“It’s like being back in the pool” Ryan looks at him quizzically not entirely sure whether Michael see that as a good thing or not.

“The pool’s the one place where I’ve always known I belonged” Michael explains  “Like so often it felt like the only time it okay for me to just be _me_ was if I was swimming and….I think It was the only thing about retiring that bothered me, you know? Like after that last race in London I wondered if I’d ever have that again. But this-” He runs his hand down Ryan’s arm and smiles at him shyly “-is…it’s better”

Ryan’s breath catches in his throat. Michael’s words remind of his own struggle to find himself in the wake of London, and what it nearly cost him.

“Fuck I missed you” Ryan rubs the back of Michael’s neck finding tension in the muscles beneath his hand

“You ok?” Ryan’s asks, stroking his index finger across Michael’s cheek.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just a little nervous” Michael admits

“It’s ok, like I am too” Ryan reassures him and he instantly feels some of the tension seep out of Michael’s neck. He relaxes even further as Ryan continues to work at the muscles in his neck and across his shoulders.

“So do you even have any, um, stuff?” Michael asks

“Oh uh yeah...hold on, just let me-” Ryan sits back and leans across Michael to reach over the edge of the bed searching for the duffle from the summer which is still only half unpacked. He pushes himself up onto the bed bringing with him a small paper bag from a French pharmacy which he presses into Michael’s hands. Michael raises his eyebrows

“You been planning this for a while Doggy?”

Ryan blushes

“Yeah well. I guessed I figured we get to this part eventually” He runs a hand and down Michael’s chest “ ‘cause you know, excelling at different uh, events, is kind of you’re thing. No Pressure”

Michael doesn’t laugh, instead he turns the bag over and frowns “How are we supposed to read the instructions?”

Ryan looks at him incredulously 

“You need instructions on how to stick your fingers in my ass?”

Michael fiddles with the edge of the bag making small rips along the cerated edge.

“I just…you know, don’t want to do it wrong”

“I’m not sure it’s something you _can_ get wrong Mike”

“I don’t know. I-“

Ryan rips the bag out of Michael’s hand and empties the contents onto the bed. He wraps his fingers around Michael’s wrist

“Mike this isn’t a 200 fucking fly-” he says while popping the lid off the lube and pouring the liquid over Michael’s fingers “-I promise you technique is not here important, just-” He stops what he’s doing and meets Michael’s eyes “-come on baby, _please”_

Michael swallows heavily and then he’s pushing Ryan onto his back. He hovers over him for another agonising couple of seconds before dipping his head to brush his lips against Ryan’s and then he sits back on his knees and very tentatively pushes a finger into Ryan’s ass. Ryan closes his eyes and lets his head fall back

“Yeah. S’good MP” He encourages

Michael gains confidence and his movements become more deliberate as he adds a second finger swiftly following with a third, at which point Ryan’s  vocabulary becomes limited to words of nor more than one syllable.

“Shit. Good. Mike. Yes.”

Michael bites his lip “So, um, can I like...?”

Ryan squeezes Michael’s hand and nods. Michael manages to drop the condom twice before getting  the foil packet open and Ryan’s just about to mock him for it but then Michael’s pushing into him slowly and the dig along with every single other thought in his head disappears as he focuses on _this_.

Michael hasn’t even moved yet and Ryan’s already feeling lightheaded, he actually starts to panic a little because his chest is a little tight and it kind of feels like he might be passing-

“Breathe Ryan” Michael whispers

Right. He breathes in deeply and fixes his eyes on Michael who watches him carefully

“We’re good” Ryan grits out “Move”

Michael’s hips stutter at first but he quickly finds a rhythm that’s sort of mesmerising in a way that means Ryan somehow to completely forget about his own dick until Michael wraps a hand around him. Ryan’s eyes fall shut as Michael starts to stoke and not the first time he offers silent thanks to the god of swimming or whoever the fuck is responsible for Michael’s freakishly large hands.

When Ryan reopens his eyes Michael’s looking down at him with a level of intensity Ryan’s only seen matched in the ready room. In contrast to the ready room though, Michael’s eyes are warm, adding to heat that’s already started pooling in Ryan’s stomach. When he comes, Ryan lunges up digging his hands into Michael’s shoulders and pulling Michael back down with him when he follows second later. For a while the only noise in the room is the sound unsynchronised shallow breathing. After a while Michael lifts his head from Ryan chest and manages

“FUUUCCCKKK”

Before collapsing back down again. Ryan hums in agreement, wrapping his arms around Michael and closing his eyes with a contented smile. He runs his fingers through Michael’s hair caught off guard by the pang of regret  he feels at how much it’s grown in the last six months.

Ryan’s post practice nap is way overdue and he’s just starting to drift off when his eyes fly open as he remembers the bag in the back of the car. Michael groans sleepily as Ryan elbows him out the way so he can get out of bed.

“Stay” Michael croaks reaching out to grab Ryan but missing by a good distance.

“I’m coming back” Ryan kisses Michael’s forehead “I’ve got you a present”

Michael opens his eyes a fraction and smirks

“I was that good?”

Ryan rolls his eyes as he pulls his short on

“I’ll be two minutes. Don’t move”  Ryan suspects this instruction will prove unnecessary.

Ryan doesn’t bother putting on a shirt to duck out to car and retrieve the bag his agent handed to him earlier. When he returns to the bedroom Michael is (by some miracle) propped up against the headboard. He turns his head towards the door and smiles lazily at Ryan.

“So” Ryan begins excitedly as he climbs onto the bed and straddles Michael lap. “I don’t know if you still planning to go to game on Sunday. Like I know there isn’t really much point what with it basically being a lock for San Francisco after everything that’s happened”

Michael folds his arms across his chest

“I’m still going”

“Good, that’s good. I mean the photos are out there now, so the news that you shaved must have reached the Ravens camp and I’m guessing morale’s pretty low, but like id we keep quiet about the shirt I think there might still be a chance-”

“Get to the part with my gift”

“See that’s the thing. I really do feel super bad about you ripping your shirt, so I’ve got you another one to wear to the game” Ryan turns the bag upside down letting the contents fall into Michael’s lap.

Michael doesn’t say anything. Using his thumb and just the very tip of his index finger, he carefully lifts the 49ers jersey off his lap and drops if over the side of the bed. He refolds his arms against his chest and glares at Ryan.

“You think this is fucking funny? I swear to God Ryan, if that trophy ends up in San Francisco because of-”

“I’ll make you a deal” Ryan cuts in placing a kiss against Michael’s firmly closed lips “IF as you so loyally predict, Baltimore lose I promise I will _never_ break another pre-game rule ever again” He places his hand over his heart but Michael continues to look unimpressed so Ryan decides to add an extra incentive “And, to help ease the pain of defeat, I’ll fly to New Orleans and let you fuck me until you forget why you were even there in the first place”

Michael’s mouth falls open slightly. Ryan silently hopes he isn’t this obvious when he plays poker.

“If I’m wrong?” He asks arms still folded “if Baltimore win?”

Ryan takes as second to consider his terms

“I still fly out to New Orleans” He pulls on Michael’s arms so they fall away from his chest “But I get to fuck you”

Ryan leans forward and sucks at Michael’s collar bone

“I…uh” Michael stutters. Ryan reaches round and runs a hand down the entire length of Michael spine before casually slipping a finger inside his ass _“Shit_ Ry. Yes, fuck. Fucking deal”

With a self-satisfied smile Ryan pushes himself up and trails kisses up Michael’s jaw finishing with his mouth pressed against Michael’s ear “And you wear the 49ers Jersey the whole time”


End file.
